Darkness Before the Dawn
by CharlesTheBold
Summary: This is a fleshing out of the events that led to the creation of Dawn, set just before the start of Season 5.
1. Mr Giles Occupation

**Chapter 1 Mr. Giles' Occupation**

_(Author's Disclaimer: I have no connection with the creators or producers of Buffy, and I seek no profit from this story. My only motive in writing this is to have some fun and hopefully share it.)_

"Name?" asked the immigration official.

"Rupert Giles."

"Date of Birth?"

"October 25, 1950. In London, England, if that was your next question."

The official nodded and wrote down the extra information. "Occupation?"

Giles suddenly felt awkward. Up to a year ago, of course, he had been the librarian at Sunnydale High School. But the high school no longer existed, having burned down after the 1999 graduation, and the clerk must know that perfectly well. And he didn't want to discuss his real vocation. "I do research."

"What kind of research?"

That was definitely something Giles didn't want to go into. He could scarcely say that he was an operative in a secret, centuries-long gods-and-demons war, his specific task being to identify supernatural threats and how his protegee, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, could best handle them. "Old history, here in Sunnydale…" Inspiration struck. "I'm a writer. I'm working on a book about Sunnydale's colorful past. For example, did you know that this area was once known as 'La Bocca de Infierno', the Mouth of Hell? Quite a different image from 'Sunnydale'. I hope to trace the development—"

"Yes, yes," said the bureaucrat, losing interest now that she got a definite answer. Giles didn't mind; he had defused an awkward situation by mixing fact and fiction. The proposed book didn't exist, but the morsel of history he had quoted did, and "Hellmouth" was as good a name as any to describe what went on in Sunnydale.

The official asked a few more questions, all safe from Giles' point of view, then clicked on SAVE on the computer screen. "That's it, Mr. Giles. The renewal of your visa will take a few days, but I don't foresee any problem. In fact – have you consisted applying for citizenship? You've satisfied the residency requirements."

"I've thought of it. But I have ties both to England and to here. I'm not ready to take that step." Olivia in England, Buffy in America, but the official did not have to know that.

"Very well. Just know that the option is there."

As Giles descended the stairs of the government he thought over the questionnaire. That question about "occupation" bothered him more than he thought it would. Even his personal answer – "I'm a Watcher" – didn't completely hold up under scrutiny.

PROBLEM: his Watcher position hadn't been official for more than a year. The Watcher's Council had sacked him after a bitter argument over how to handle Buffy. Buffy, thank God, had refused to recognize the dismissal and continued to treat him as her mentor, but it all depended on Buffy's choice.

PROBLEM: Buffy needed him less and less. Throughout most of history few women had received a decent education, and most Slayers had been illiterate, desperately in need of an experienced Watcher's guidance. Buffy, on the contrary, was now about to start her second year of college. And in terms of hands-on experience, she had been Slaying for five years, far more than most Slayers lived before going down in battle.

PROBLEM: There were actually less vampires to worry about than ever before. The U. S. government had had a secret project called the Initiative in Sunnydale, tracking down all the monsters who lived near the Hellmouth. The Initiative had had its own agenda, and was no longer operating in Sunnydale, but in the process most of the local vampires had been neutralized, like Spike, or had fled, like Drusilla. Indeed, Buffy had found matters calm enough that she could risk going off on a "honeymoon" with her boyfriend Riley, leaving the Hellmouth to Giles and to her teenaged friends.

Was Giles becoming obsolete? Did he really have a purpose here?

As he approached his condominium, Giles noticed a car in the lot that didn't belong there, and was startled out of her reverie. He recognized the vehicle: it belonged to Joyce Summers, Buffy's mother. Giles had always been puzzled over exactly how to deal with Joyce. She had been brought into the secret two years ago, and was proud of Buffy's accomplishments as Slayer, but she also tended to view the whole supernatural world as something alien, a threat to her daughter's safety and happiness. Nor did it help that, on the two occasions in which she tried to get involved, she had been hit by nasty spells: one of them tried to make her kill Buffy, the other had tempted her to make love with Giles himself.

Be polite. After all, there was one definite bond between them: both loved Buffy. "Hello, Joyce."

"Hello, Rupert." She looked around nervously. "Um, Willow and the others aren't here, are they?"

"Xander and Tara are at work. Willow is taking riding lessons." Willow had had a phobia about horses ever since some childhood accident, but Tara had talked Willow into trying to overcome it so that the two could go riding together. Giles didn't know how much Joyce knew about the girls' sexual relationship; it was better to keep his mouth shut on the subject.

"And Buffy's away with Riley. Good. There's something I want to discuss, but I don't want the youngsters to know." She was definitely agitated about something.

"Come in. Let me get you some tea." Americans didn't go in for teatime, of course, but it would give Joyce a chance to calm down and ease into a conversation.

As he rummaged around in his kitchenette, Joyce stood in the small living room and wrung her hands. "I'm sorry to intrude. But I had an odd dream lately. It may involve "woo-woo" as Buffy would say, and I was hoping you could interpret it. I can't talk to Buffy about it, even when she gets back."

"I'll try to be helpful."

They sat at the table, and Joyce sipped on the tea, which seemed to calm her. "The first thing you must know is, Buffy once had a sister."

"Buffy never mentioned that," said Giles, astonished.

"She doesn't know. I had my second child when Buffy was still quite little – we decided to call her Dawn. But something went wrong, and the baby died just minutes after birth."

"I'm terribly sorry."

"We never told Buffy about it," Joyce said sadly. "After all, she was too young to know what pregnancy was all about, and didn't ask questions. Later, there wasn't any point in bringing it up. After that I knew I would never have another baby, and Buffy was very precious to me. I tried to stand by her even when everyone was calling her a juvenile delinquent. Then the terrible day came when I lost my head and told her to leave—"

"The dream," Giles prompted. Actually he didn't blame Joyce for rattling on: it occurred to him that while Buffy had Giles and her Scooby Gang, Joyce had nobody to confide in. She could scarcely tell her neighbors over coffee that her daughter was a Vampire Slayer.

"Oh, yes. It first happened before I even left the hospital. There were these two monks holding a baby. One, speaking with a very thick accent, said 'This is our Key, but it is also a baby. It needs a mother, and you need a child.' Then I woke up. I had the dream several times."

"Hmm. This may not be supernatural, Joyce. It is common after a crisis for somebody to dream of it happening differently, with a happy ending. It happened to me when I lost Jenny Calendar a couple of years ago."

"Yes, I thought of that. But now it's happening again. The exact same dream, as if the fourteen years hadn't passed."

"Fourteen years. Did you say fourteen years?"

"Yes. Dawn was born and died on September 14, 1986 – fourteen years ago next month. Why?"

"It may mean nothing. But seven is a very important number, and of course fourteen is twice seven. Things sometimes move in cycles."

"I see," said Joyce, who obviously didn't.

Giles pondered. "See if you can remember the exact appearance of the monks – any odd details of their habits. I can look them up and see if they represent a known order, Christian or not. The word Key seems significant; I'll look that up too."

"Thank you. But, please, don't involve Willow. I know she's good at tracking things down, but I don't want word getting back to Buffy."

"Don't worry. Willow will never know you were here."

At that point, Giles' front door opened and Willow walked in.


	2. The Shadow Knows

**Chapter 2 The Shadow Knows**

Giles was taken aback. The girl was looking back and forth between Joyce and himself, and Giles wondered if she knew about that aphrodesiac spell. Buffy did, but it was scarcely the sort of thing she would discuss, even with her best friend.

"Hello, Mrs. Summers," said Willow politely.

"Joyce had just gotten a new African religious figure for her museum," Giles said quickly, "and wanted to see if it was listed in my books. After all, after last time—".

"The zombies. Right. Nice precaution, Mrs. Summers."

"I AM getting the hang of this sort of thing," Joyce said wryly. "Thank you, Rupert. I'll send you a description of the – religious figure – tomorrow." She walked out the door, apparently taking it for granted that the two would want to talk about magic, and not wanting to get involved.

"I thought you were out horseback-riding," said Giles, trying to sound bland, though he was a little miffed at having Willow's appearance nearly ruin his promise to Joyce.

"I was. But Tara mentioned a lecture at the college this evening that I got interested in – you might be too -- so I decided to shower and change. Um – haven't showered yet—"

"No problem." He had detected a slight horsy scent about Willow, but had know her for too long to be put off by it. "The lecture--?"

"It's called "Astronomical Facts and Astrological Fictions". It's being given by a Dr. Celeste, who will be teaching at the University this fall. This particular lecture is open to the public."

"Thank you." Attending a lecture WOULD be more interesting than sitting around the house brooding about his "occupation". He could get started on Joyce's dream tomorrow.

Willow gave him an odd look. "What IS your opinion of astrology, Giles? Your books are full of astrological stuff, but I've never seen you interested in, say, horoscopes."

"I make fine distinctions, Willow. I don't think casting a horoscope on a human accomplishes anything, because humans have free will and can control or change their destiny. Vampires and demons don't, so their actions can be predicted, and astrology is one tool for doing that. In fact, that is one thing that makes Vampire Slaying morally bearable. If the vampires had a potential for reform, shouldn't they be given the chance?"

"What about Angel? He has free will."

"Angel was reformed by an outside force, a spell, not by his own nature. You ought to know; you re-imposed the spell."

"I was in the hospital at the time, half-delirious, not in a frame of mind to think things through. I'm glad you're always around to straighten things out, Giles."

"Um, yes. Now, about the lecture: what is the time and place?"

"7:00. Science Hall at the University."

"I'll be there--"

Suddenly they heard a scream from outside.

"Aieee! Help! Buffy!"

"That's Joyce's voice!" exclaimed Giles, dashing out the door, with Willow at his heels, both yanking out stakes from their pockets.

Joyce was sitting on the ground next to her car, looking stunned. As the pair ran up, she whispered, "Vampire."

"Scout the area, Willow," Giles ordered. "I'll see to Joyce." Willow nodded and began peering around, while Giles helped the woman to her feet. "Are you bitten?"

"No. I decided to bluff, yelling Buffy's name as if she was nearby. If he knew about my daughter, he might also know that she visits you a lot."

"Good thinking. But are you sure that it was a vampire?"

"I know what you're thinking, that vampires can't stand daylight. But we were in the shadow of – of – " She looked around. "That's funny. I don't see what could have caused a shadow that dark. You must believe me, Rupert."

"I do." Joyce and he might have different opinions about the duties of a Slayer, but she was no dummy and no hysteric. If she said that was a shadow, then he would look for a shadow.

Willow showed up again; he could hear her coming by the clopping of her riding boots. "There's an open manhole down the block. I think I saw something dark disappear down it."

"You didn't chase it?"

"He fled so readily that I was afraid that he was trying to decoy me away, so that other vampires could attack you. Apparently I was wrong, but it pays to be cautious and watch your a--, um, back."

"You sound like Buffy's boyfriend," said Joyce, amused.

"Yeah, Riley's been giving us combat pointers. I like learning new stuff, and maybe there's something to be said for Initiative tactics, even though they failed in the long run. Of course, if he were here, he might have done it differently."

"You're not going to tell them about this, are you, Rupert?" asked Joyce. "I want them to enjoy their honeymoon. Buffy so rarely gets a chance to be a happy, normal girl."

Giles, whose line of work frequently put him in touch with the past and its mores, was slightly amused. In no previous generation would a conventional mother like Joyce approve of the fact that her "girl" was having a lot of sex with her boyfriend with no talk of marriage, much less consider it "normal". Of course, considering that Buffy had surrendered her virginity to a vampire on her seventeenth birthday, any other love affair must look normal. But he focused on the problem at hand. In a real crisis he would feel duty-bound to call the Slayer back, even if it involved an anonymous victim instead of Buffy's own mother. But this was an isolated incident during a quiet period. He could wait.

"I won't," he said. "But I don't think you should stay at your house alone with everybody away. That vampire knows you have a connection with Buffy, and he may have tricked you into "inviting him in" in the past. You had better stay here with me." They were entering the door as they spoke.

"Well, I still need to shower off, so I better get going," said Willow. "If we don't see you at the lecture, Giles, I'll understand." She went out, closing the door.

"Lecture?" echoed Joyce.

"It's nothing," said Giles.

"Nonsense. Don't let me stop you from your normal routine, Rupert. If your house is safe, it's safe. Do you have something here that I could read?"

Giles was feeling a little miffed that she drew more secure feelings from his house than from his own prowess as a fighter, though that was probably an accurate assessment. He ignored that and concentrated on the question. "Only metaphysical tomes, I'm afraid. I used to keep the old English classic novels, but I had to clear them out to make room when I evacuated my school library." He avoided remarking that he had cleaned the demonology texts out the school library after Joyce had "outed" his bizarre collection to the school authorities. That hadn't been Joyce's fault; a devil had made her do it.

"Do you have anything on African demonology? It might throw some light on some of my African art."

"Interesting thought. OK, I'll get one." He looked through his collection.

"Buffy told me of an odd dream she had a few months ago. About seeing a girl in an African mask who identified herself as the First Slayer. Of course, maybe her mind was just confusing her vocation with some of the African masks that I've brought home from time to time. Do you know?"

Giles remembered that night; Buffy had told him about the dream, while he had kept secret the dream he himself had had. It was about an alternate life where vampires were nothing but a theme-park fantasy and he had been able to marry Olivia and father children. The oldest child in the dream had a peculiar resemblance to Buffy. It was his subconscious acknowledgement that he was torn in two directions: the desire to be a father to Buffy and the wish for a normal life. He didn't want to mention that to Joyce.

"Yes, she told me about the dream, but we don't know how Slayers originated. That information, if it was ever known, has been lost through the years. The Council of Watchers started in midieval times when certain English scholars discovered the existence of Slayers and decided that they needed guidance. Before then, nobody knows."

"Haven't you ever been curious?"

The question was innocently meant, but Giles was to remember it in the future.


	3. The Lore of the Key

**Chapter 3 The Lore of the Key**

Brother Gregor could not move. Moving implied having space to move in, and the current continuum in which he was travelling had no space, only time. Nevertheless, possibly because of the Key's presence, he could still think, and so he thought of the events that led him here.

Roughly a month ago (according to Gregor's own sense of time, not the continuum's), he was dashing along an underground corridor, desperate to check on the safety of the Key. A year before that, he had known nothing of the Key; as a scientist he would have denied that such a thing could exist. Now, even though its full power had not been revealed to him, he was ready to risk his life to protect it. Normally that would have been the task of the Knights of Byzantium, but they had quarreled with the Brotherhood, and the crucial treasure was now badly guarded.

He reached the Sanctum Sanctorum and breathed a sigh of relief. The Key was still in its proper place, on the altar. But in the distance he heard a horrible scream – Brother Franz's voice – followed by shouts of gibberish. That meant that Gloria herself was here, wielding her most fearsome weapon. It also meant that Gregor had lost a dear friend in Franz, but he had no time to mourn. For everything there was a season, and this was the time to fight. He picked up a staff from the sub-altar. It played a role in ritual, but it also make a good quaterstaff.

Gloria appeared at the door. She did not look at all formidable: a teenaged girl, and a not too bright one at that. But looks can be deceiving, and it probably was not her real form. A touch of her hand could drive men mad.

"Out of my way, mortal."

"It is not your way, hell-goddess." Gregor was tempted to use a more vulgar word, but refrained. This may be the last few moments in his life, and he wanted to live them with dignity..

"It's my way if I want it."

He swung the staff at her. He had intended to hit her head, but his aim was low and he hit her shoulder instead. A human would have suffered broken bones from the blow, and in fact it succeeded in knocking Glory aside. But she was back on her feet a second later, unharmed and quite angry.

He knocked her back several times. But there came one crucial incident when she managed to duck the blow. Before he could regain his balance, she dashed forward, hands outstretched. They touched his forehead, and Gregor screamed as everything went black. He had lost his sanity; more importantly, he had lost the Key.

He was lying on a bunk in the monastery infirmary. It was a great relief to know that, because by rights he should have been insane and unaware of his surroundings. Or was it possible that he was really insane and imagining his surroundings?

Father Johann walked up. Suddenly Gregor remembered the crisis, far more important than his own fate.

"Father! Something terrible has happened. Gloria has the Key!"

"Do not worry," Father said calmly.

"But—"

"I said, do not worry. The Key is on the altar, and the goddess was never here. It was only a dream."

"Thank God. But how do you know what I dreamt?"

"We induced it. I'm sorry to inflict such a nightmare on you, Brother, but it was necessary. We need to know whether our applicants are willing to sacrifice everything for the cause, without actually having them lose anything. You passed. Once you have recovered from your anxiety, I will teach you the Secret Knowledge."

"You deceived me!"

"We live in a fallen world, Brother. Some fight on behalf of evil, some profess to fight for good but not strongly. Sometimes we must stoop to deceit as well. But I give you my word that, now that you have proved yourself, everything that I reveal to you will be perfectly true, to my own knowledge." Father Johann held up the badge with the three crossed keys. "I will give you this formally in a ceremony, but you may take it now as a sign that you are a full member with full knowledge."

Resentment fought curiosity in Gregor's mind, and curiosity won out. "Very well. Please tell me what you know."

Father Johann pulled up a chair. "What do you know of the Key?"

"The rumor among the Brothers is that it enables one to travel to other universes."

"That's not strictly true; though we let them believe that. To actually travel to other dimensions you need another artifact, which we keep even more secret. The importance of the Key is that it protects you once you get there."

"Protects?"

"Other universes may follow other laws, and your body or soul will be subject to them if you cross over. The Key creates a sort of bubble in which our own laws are still in effect. Are you familiar with Milton's quote that Satan can never leave Hell, because he carries Hell around with him? That's what the Key does for us."

"So in another universe, we'd die without it?"

"Not so fortunate. In many universes you cannot die, but you would live in agony – forever. Many of what we call Hell Dimensions are of that type."

Gregor shuddered.

"Legend says that the key was given to the poet Dante Alighieri, so that he could visit Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, and write about them. After his return he entrusted them to a monk. At that point there was a tremendous power struggle in the Church – Pope Boniface was nearly assassinated, a prestigious order called the Templars were declared heretics and wiped out – so the monk decided not to trust his superiors with the information. Instead he started his own secret order – the Brotherhood of the Key."

"It is not just a matter of protecting us in Hell dimensions. It works the other way too. Once of the things that keeps our world safe from demons is that few of them can cross over and survive. Even those that can survive have weaknesses – vampires, for example, can be killed by sunlight, and they fall to dust once the life force stops holding them together. The Key could protect them. That is why we are careful to keep the Key's real function secret. Unfortunately, some of them already know."

"Gloria." Gregor guessed.

"Yes. She is more resilient than most denizens of Hell, and can survive here on her own for nearly a year. Several times she has crossed over and tried to set up an empire, but always her time expired and she had to return home. But if she got the Key she could stay and rule forever."

"Forgive me if this sounds heretical, but would it not be better to destroy the Key rather than risk it being captured?" Gregor asked.

"It is a reasonable question. Indeed, our traditional allies, the Knights of Byzantium, have urged us to do just that. But there is a prophecy that, if the Key survives, it will be used one day to permit an invasion of a Hell dimension, ridding it of many of the demons who threaten our world. We decided to keep it in existence, and the Knights broke company with us."

"Do we have warrior allies other than the Knights?"

"We are seeking some. Have you heard of Slayers?"

"Vaguely."

"Teenage girls granted demonic powers in order to protect the worlds against other demons. Since they are often too young and inexperienced to understand demonology or military tactics, an organization has grown up to support them – the Council of Watchers, headquartered in London."

"I presume you contacted them."

"Yes. But after a lot of stalling, the Council admitted that they too had quarreled – neither of the two known Slayers are on speaking terms with them. One used her powers for evil and is now in prison. The other is still fighting in California, with the help of a rebellious Watcher. Her name is Buffy."

"Buffy? That is a peculiar name, even for an American."

"Nevertheless, that is what she is called."

"Have you tried contacting this Buffy?"

"We have considered it. Unfortunately, she recently came into conflict with another demon-fighting organization called the Initiative. After two recent and hostile encounters with large organizations, she might be on her guard if we came along."

"Is there an alternative?"

"Well, there's always deceit—"

TBC


	4. The Eclipse that Wasn't

**Chapter 4 The Eclipse that Wasn't**

Giles showed up at the lecture, attired in a new coat and tie, as was suitable for a dignified occasion. He was not at all surprised to see that Willow was clad in blue jeans, though presumably a different set than the ones they had worn on her horse. Different generations had different customs. Tara was there too. Even if she wasn't interested in the lecture, she was interested in Willow.

Dr. Celeste was a young woman in her twenties, very earnest and much in love with her subject. Accordingly to her capsule biography, which were part of her lecture notes, she was a newcomer to Sunnydale, having worked at Mt. Palomar for two years after receiving a doctorate at UCLA. That meant, Giles thought dryly, that she hadn't gotten familiar with the weird things that tended to happen in Sunnydale.

"For centuries astronomy and astrology were closely intertwined. Tycho Brahe, who discovered supernovas, cast horoscopes, and so did his student Johannes Kepler, who devised the modern notion of an orbit. So what is the difference, and when did they part company? The key difference is astrology is a closed system, which has scarcely changed since the Babylonians developed it three thousand years ago. Astronomy is a science that can grow. For example, astrology might say that a woman born when Venus was in the constellation Virgo would be destined to be a sexy temptress – or maybe a very sexy virgin (laughter) What would make her that way was never analyzed – just vague references to 'astral influences' of heavenly bodies. Nor did anybody over the millenia try to take a census of women and try to correlate sexiness with being born under Venus and Virgo – though to do them justice, the statistical tools to do so weren't invented until the nineteenth century."

"Where the two disciplines parted company was Newton's theory of Universal Gravitation, one generation after Kepler. "Universal" meant that the same law to moons and apples, to heavenly bodies and mundane ones. The moon influences tides, yes, but due to calculable gravitational differentials, not vague 'astral influences'."

"The general population became aware of the differences during the next two centuries. Astrology depended on the notion that there were only the sun, moon, five other planets, and the stars, yet in the eighteenth century Sir William Hershel discovered Uranus, a planet which most people have heard of, at least in the form of dirty jokes (laughter) Then in the nineteenth century something crucial happened: astronomers discovered Neptune, based on his gravitational influence on other parts of the solar system. So why didn't astrologers discover it by his 'astral influences'? Because there aren't any such thing as astral influences, and because the search for something new simply isn't part of astrology. It is a dead system."

"How educated people in general were aware by then of astronomy vs astrology can be seen in a particular work of fiction, Mark Twain's CONNECTICUT YANKEE IN KING ARTHUR'S COURT. To the Yankee, eclipses were phenomena which could be calculated and studied. To the midievals, they were terrifying omens."

That suddenly seized Giles' attention. ECLIPSES!

He tuned out most of the rest of the lecture, as he meditated on the subject.

The two things that made life bearable in Sunnydale were that vampires could be killed by sunlight, and could not enter buildings without the owner's permission. That meant that, in practice, they were only a danger in the open at night, and Sunnydalers could lead relatively normal lives during the day. That was made today's attack on Joyce so mystifying. But in May 1999, during the graduation ceremony of Buffy and Willow, there had been a total eclipse over Sunnydale, and the vampires, forewarned, had been ready for it. Giles' crew had only learned of the plan a few days ahead of time, and had had to take drastic measures to counter it, including destroying Giles' library and with it his official livelihood. If they had known earlier —- well, why hadn't they?

Once the lecture was finished, Giles strode forward toward the stage, with Willow and Tara following him without question. There were other people talking to Dr. Celeste, so they patiently waited their turn. For different reasons, Giles, Willow, and Tara were all accustomed to staying in the background and being unobtrusive.

Finally his turn arrived. "Dr. Celeste, my name is Rupert Giles. I am, ah, writing a history of unusual events in Sunnydale." That lie had already been useful once but would also serve now, though Willow looked a little startled. "I was intrigued by your remark about predicting eclipses. Why didn't anyone predict the eclipse over Sunnydale in May, 1999?"

"That have been no eclipses over Sunnydale for years," replied Celeste.

"Are you s-s-sure?" asked Tara, with the stammer that always come up when she had conflicting impulses: to say something or keep quiet. "You w-w-weren't in Sunnydale then, according to your b-bio."

"No, but astronomers keep track of when eclipses occur anywhere in the world, and try to be on the spot if possible. There's always something new to learn. If an eclipse happened over Southern California recently, I'd know about it."

"But—" started Willow.

"Thank you very much," said Giles. "Apparently I need to do more research on the incident." He gently took Willow's arm and led her away; she followed his lead, and of course Tara followed Willow. Once they were out of earshot of the others, Giles said, "Well. That was – interesting."

"I wasn't in Sunnydale at the time," said Tara, talking firmly now that she was among friends, "but Willow told me about Mayor Wilkins and the incident at the school. Could he have CAUSED the eclipse?"

"If it were any other phenomenon, I'd say yes," Giles mused. "But an eclipse involves the sun, the moon, and the Earth. Tamper with those and every astronomer in the world would notice, even if it hadn't been predicted. I'd say that we have a mystery on our hands."

"Do you think it's important?" asked Willow. "After all, Mayor Wilkins has been dead more than a year."

"Yes, but we know that he left some powerful talismen behind – Faith found some of them. Suppose one of them explains how to create an eclipse at will, with dozens of vampires ready to exploit it?"

"Hmm," said Willow, seeing the point.

"We have some work cut out for us, I think," said Giles. Privately he added to himself: and then there's the promise I made to Joyce. Whatever made me think of myself as underemployed?

Giles parted company with the girls and drove back to his apartment. While parking, he considered, as he always did, how to stay safe after sundown. Cars apparently counted as dwellings: a vampire couldn't get in without being invited. So Giles was safe in the car and would again be safe in his house. The danger would be in the parking lot between the two. He grasped the stake in his pocket.

And what if he was being too confident? A vampire had somehow violated one rule by attacking Joyce in daylight. Suppose it found how to get into a dwelling without getting invited, as well? Would he enter the house to find Joyce's dead body, as he had found Jenny Carpenter's two and a half years earlier?

He dashed in, and found Joyce sitting on the sofa, absorbed in one of Gile's tomes. "This is fascinating, Rupert. I don't think I'll ever look at my African art collection the same way again—"

"Glad you enjoyed it," Giles said absently. "But we had better plan out sleep arrangements, tonight. You can sleep in my bed – alone, I mean," he said hastily. "I'll take the couch."

"I can't impose that much on you, Rupert."

"Nonsense. You have a job to go to tomorrow; I don't. So you need the most comfortable bed."

"There ARE ways to share a bed without getting intimate, Rupert. One person sleeps under a sheet, the other on top, and they can't make contact without consciously remaking the bed."

Giles stared.

"Buffy told me she did that with Angel sometimes after his return. It seemed risky to me. But I'm not an excitable teenager, and you're not, well, whatever you classify Angel as."

"People will gossip, if they hear of it."

"People have gossiped for years about my being the mother of a crazy daughter. I don't care what they think. So we'll try it."

Giles agreed, and hoped that Joyce would not remember that he was sometimes known to wilder friends as the Ripper.


	5. The Times They Are a Changing

**Chapter 5 The Times They Are a-Changing**

Anya moaned, and Xander woke up in concern.

Most people, Xander knew, thought Anya was rather a bimbo, and wondered what Xander saw in her, aside from the opportunity for a lot of good sex. The sex was there, but Xander's bond to Anya was deeper than that. A year ago at the worst part of his life, when his friends had gone off to college and his parents berated him for lacking the grades to do the same, the former Vengeance Demon Anya had fallen in love with him. To be loved by a woman a thousand years old, to be respected by a woman who had spent the millennium cursing unworthy men, had been immensely consoling to Xander's self-esteem.

"Whatissit?" he asked, trying to be alert but still half asleep.

"I think somebody's trying to alter reality."

"Huh?"

"Remember last year when that boy cast a spell to make everyone think he was superhuman? Inventing the Internet, starring in the MATRESS—"

"MATRIX. Yeah, I remember. It was very embarrassing, the way he meddled with our heads. But you didn't notice it that time."

"I've been in on my guard since then."

Xander tried to take a deep breath and get a hold on things. "OK, somebody's trying to alter reality. Is that good or bad?"

"It depends whether the new reality is better or worse than the old one," Anya said, sensibly enough.

"All right, then. What's changed?"

"Can't tell. The sensation is faint – either the change isn't finished yet, or it's far away. Like, maybe an Irishman got a Vengeance Demon to invent an alternate reality in which the Irish oppress the English instead of vice versa. The Irish are very good at curses."

"Hmmm. No way to ask your friends, is there?"

"We're not on speaking terms anymore." Which really meant that the other Vengeance Demons looked down their noses at Anya, one of whose spells had backfired and stranded her in the form of a mere girl. But Xander didn't know the details of that, and knew better than to bring it up.

"All right. I'll ask Giles tomorrow evening."

"Evening?"

"I've been hired to help with a construction crew tomorrow."

"Do you think that's a good idea? After all, remember the time you dug up an Indian shaman's grave, and he put a curse on your pen—"

"That's not going to happen again," Xander said hastily. "This site's miles away from there. After all, there can't be that many Indian graveyards around, can there?"

"You never know," said Anya. "After all, this is Sunnydale."

In spite of Anya's misgivings, Xander showed up to work the next day, trying to put all notions of "reality altering" out of his head. In bright sunlight, life seemed a lot less spooky than when was lying in the dark in bed with a former Vengeance Demon.

At least, it seemed that way until Xander walked up to the ruins of a shack that had been knocked down by a wrecking ball the previous day. His boss had asked him to pick up some spare wood that might be reusable. But just as he was about to tug on a useful board, a voice said:

"Please don't move that!"

"Huh?"

"I'll die if I'm exposed to sunlight," said a voice from the stack.

"Are you a vampire?" demanded Xander.

"No, a Sato demon. But I'm just as vulnerable to sunlight. Please spare me."

Xander had no idea what a Sato demon was, but he was inclined to believe the creature's denial of being a vampire. Vampires never begged, and in particular they never said "please". And he knew from life with Anya that not all demons were inherently evil.

"I can't just leave the stack without creating suspicion," said Xander. "But I'll tell you what I'll do. There's a tarp over there. I'll bring it over, and you can crawl away under its protection.

"Thank you! How can I ever repay you?"

A year ago, Xander would have generously waved off any thought of reward. But now he had gone through a year of dead-end, low-paying jobs, and was not inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Er—what CAN you do?"

"Would you like to know what the future has in store?" asked the demon.

"Yes!"

"Done."

Xander found himself in the midst of smoldering ruins, as if an entire town had burnt down. He recognized enough of the layout of the ruins to know which town: Sunnydale.

But there was one building before him there was both unfamiliar and untouched, a structure decidedly alien in design. He stared at it, wondering how could it get in and investigate it, and suddenly he WAS in.

In the midst of a vast open space was a golden throne, with a young blonde woman seated on it. She had a haughty expression that made Xander's old girlfriend Cordelia Chase look like the essence of humility in comparison. In her hand was an immense glowing Key – Xander automatically thought of it in capital letters.

A band of ugly dwarfs – rather like hobbits with leprosy, Xander thought – entered the room, dragging a man along. It seemed impossible for the little creatures to restrain the man, but in fact the man looked exhausted, with several days growth of beard and accumulation of grime. Looking closely, Xander was horrified to realize that the prisoner was himself. "We have caught the fugitive, Glorificus," one announced.

GlorificUS? Xander didn't know much Latin, except for bits he had picked up from Giles' magic books or Willow's spells, but he had a notion that "US" applied to male objects. Maybe the dwarfs didn't know Latin that well – or maybe the girl wasn't really a girl.

"Good," said the throne girl – thinking of her as a "queen" gave her too much undeserved dignity, Xander thought. "Tell me, where is the Slayer?"

"Buffy's dead," said the future Xander, in a defeated voice that gave the present Xander the wiggins.

"Yes, I know the Summers bitch is dead. I also know now that when one Slayer dies, another arises in her place. Where is she?"

"Don't know." The future Xander stated.

"I think that you DO know. If you don't tell me voluntarily, I'll go into your brain and drag it out. And drag your mind out with it."

The future Xander stood silent and glared. Then the girl touched his forehead, and he screamed and collapsed.

"I knew he was lying," she boasted to her minions. "The Slayer is in the great city to the north, hiding with an angel named Vampire. We'll find her."

She doesn't understand about Angel, Xander realized, and she didn't seem to know that there was a second Slayer around, Faith. Perhaps that ignorance would defeat her. But would that defeat restore Xander's sanity? Or did Xander have nothing to look forward to but the death of Buffy, the destruction of his town, and a descent into madness?

"Oh, no," moaned Xander. "Don't let it happen—"

Suddenly, as if in response to his vague prayer, the scene changed. Now he was in a desert. The only sign of civilization was a school bus parked on a road. In front it was a crowd: Buffy and Willow and Giles, all looking older. Xander himself, with a patch over one eye, and weeping with the other. Faith, looking like she belonged with the group. A black man whom Xander didn't recognize. A large number of teenage girls. Neither Tara nor Anya were in the group. All were staring at Xander; no, at something behind him. He turned around.

What he saw was an immense crater, like a meteor strike on the moon. In the distance he could see water starting to pour into it. Water in the desert? Suddenly he realized that it was the Pacific ocean; that something had devastated everything between the desert and the ocean. There was a sign on the edge of the pit that read "WELCOME TO SUNNYDALE"; it fell into the crater even as Xander made it out.

Then the scene shifted again, and Xander was back at the construction site, staring at the stack of wood.

"What does it mean?" he demanded. "Are there two futures? Is there a third that could be better? What should I do?"

No answer from the stack.

"Be careful what you wish for," Xander muttered, "because you may get it."


	6. A New Lease on Life

**Chapter 6 A New Lease on Life**

Sunnydale, when Ben had first passed through there, was a mystery. The town seemed to have a lot going for it – nice beach, a working harbor, a large branch of the state university, some good museums, no slums, proximity to Los Angeles if you needed big-city amenities. Ideally it should have flourished, maybe become another prosperous California city. But there seemed to be a malaise about it. People who grew up there tended to move away at adulthood, he noted. But the biggest mystery was the mortality rate. It had jumped out at him when he was studying health statistics from various California communities, yet nobody else seemed to have noticed. It was at that point that Ben chose to move to Sunnydale for his internship, to save lives and, if possible, to solve the mystery.

At least he found out soon enough why the beach wasn't an asset. Hospital workers warned him that they were jellyfish just off shore. They were seasonal, and the young people of Sunnydale went to the beach only during the parts of the year when they had migrated elsewhere. Otherwise they avoided the beach like the plague, and frequented the grungy Bronze Club instead.

Ben was thus curious when, returning home from a late-night shift at the hospital during jellyfish season, he spotted a lone woman lying down on the beach. He was even more curious when he realized that she was naked.

Ben was a doctor, and could be clinical about nudity. Instead of being shocked or titillated, he tried to think of a good reason that a woman would be lying nude on a beach in the middle of the night. He could think of some bad ones. Maybe she was trying for a full-body tan during the day, but lost consciousness, either from sunstroke or a jellyfish sting. Or maybe some beast had raped her and dumped the body on the beach, without even restoring her clothes.

Ben's cell phone was at home, so he could not call 911 immediately. But he was a doctor; he could be his own 911. Parking the car, he looked in the trunk for something to cover the woman's nakedness, then proceeded across the sand.

A few feet away, he hesitated. "Hello? Miss? Are you all right?" If she had simply fallen asleep while tanning, she would scarcely appreciate the approach of a strange male in her current state of undress. But there was no answer. So he proceeded with the examination.

The body was warm; she was still alive. But she wasn't breathing at all. Ben had not been in Sunnydale long enough to know that this was natural for some creatures. To his medical mind, mouth-to-mouth resussitation was called for.

Awkwardly conscious of how this would look if anybody else came by and saw them, Ben covered her body with the blanket, then knelt down to touch her lips.

The result was astonishing. Suddenly his mind was deluged with bizarre images: a red sky, screams in the background, air so odorous that one could scarcely bear to breathe it to stay alive. With a powerful effort, he thrust the images from his mind.

He was left with a single, stable image. He was floating in some kind of void. A few feet away, so was the woman. She was nude again, but it no longer looked helpless or shocking. It was as if it was natural to show off her body, and clothes were an artificial cover. Ben was not too surprised to find that he was also naked, and that he felt none of the usual social responses.

"Where am I?" asked the woman. It was not the weak, disoriented plaint that one usually heard from people who had just recovered from a fainting spell. It was an imperious demand for information, and Ben responded immediately. "This is Sunnydale, California."

"Ah," she said, seemingly pleased. "Is Adam still here?"

"I don't know Adam. Unless you mean – er, are you Eve? Because you're several thousand years late."

"What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"Adam and Eve. Ancestors of the human race, at least according to legend. She, um, dressed like you."

"Ah. That's a good parallel, at least. I won't start the human race, but I will rule it!"

"What--?"

"And I'd probably be ruling it now if that stupid demonoid hadn't gotten in my way."

Insane. Which, considering the condition in which Ben had found her, wasn't surprising. Ben had to calm her and get her to the hospital. "Listen, what's your name?"

"I don't give out my real name, and you couldn't pronounce it anyway. Call me Glory."

"All right, um, Glory. I don't know what's happened to you, but you've got delusions of grandeur. You aren't a queen or anything else. I found you unconscious on a beach, na--, um, destitute."

"Just a temporary setback. All I need is a little lifeforce." She stared at Ben, in a way that Ben might have regarded a particularly interesting organ on a dissecting table. "Yours will do."

"What are you talking about?"

Instead of replying verbally, she floated forward and kissed him.

It was not at all like he had ever visualized being kissed by a naked woman. There was, to start with, no tenderness in the gesture. She was deploying the kiss as a weapon.

And it inspired, not erotic thoughts, but a return of the images. They were more coherent this time, but still confusing. Only after they stopped whirling in his head did Ben realize that they were in reverse order, with the most recent one first.

He – no, Glory – was flying across the Pacific. She had left her clothes behind because they were less susceptible to magic than her body and would have dragged her progress. As it was, her power failed less than a

mile from Sunnydale, and sheer momentum carried her the rest of the way, ending in her collapse on the beach.

Before that –

Glory on a Pacific island, one that had not been discovered and subjected to modern influence. The natives hailed her as a goddess and sacrificed one of their own maidens to her so that Glory could feed on her life-force. Nor did Glory feel guilty about deceiving the natives, because she WAS a goddess.

Before that –

Glory in Sunnydale, battling a creature which she called Adam and which called itself a demonoid. Adam was immune to her most fearsome power, the ability to drive others insane at a touch. And, though Gloria refused to recognize it, Ben could tell that she lacked the intelligence to come up with a new strategy in a crisis. She ended up fleeing from him, crossing the ocean.

Before that –

A small rocky world that seemed to share its universe with one fiery sun and nothing else. Nighttime on the world was moonless and starless, yet it was the only time in which the planet's miserable inhabitants could safely emerge from their caves and holes and produce any semblance of civilization. Glory ruled it but was not native to it. Clearly she had come from somewhere else, but memories of her place of origin were buried deep in her psyche and would not come clear. They manifested themselves as restlessness and a sense of loss, which translated themselves into a lust to extend her empire beyond this lump of rock.

Then Ben found himself back on the beach.

"So now you know what it's like," Glory said. "Will you share your life-source with mine?"

Ben's instinct was to say no. But he thought more deeply. This was power, not evil in itself, but only in the way it was used. What good could he produce if he could wield it himself. Glory, for all her bluster, seemed at the root a rather scatter-brained girl. He could outwit her and take her power for himself.

It did not occur to him that the way to the Hellmouth was paved with good intentions.

"Yes."

They kissed a third time, and his fate was sealed.


	7. Tara's Choice

**Chapter 7 Tara's Choice**

Tara was walking along a path at night. She couldn't see any objects off the path, and she didn't know where she was going, but that didn't matter. She knew enough of the supernatural to recognize what this was: a dream vision, in which the important thing was not the details but the message.

She came upon a point at which the path forked, one to the right and one to the left, in perfect symmetry. Directly in front of her was a statue of a woman. Tara knew it was a woman because it had breasts; about a dozen of them, in fact. One pair might have looked sexy (though Tara never judged her girlfriends by such a coarse criterion); this simply looked monstrous, though not the sort of monster that Willow's friends tended to fight.

The statue looked at Tara. "The road diverges," she said. "You must pick one path or the other."

"Um, yes, I can s-s-see that," said Tara, not wanting to be rude but rather annoyed at being told the obvious. As usual, conflicting impulses made her stammer when she tried to talk, even in a dream.

"One road leads to long life. The other to early death."

Far more concerned, Tara looked down the paths. But each was soon swallowed up in darkness. "Which is w-which?"

The statue went silent. It was now as still as, well, a statue.

"What's going to k-k-kill me if I walk the wrong way? Answer me!"

She tried to dash at the statue, but something drove her away violently, causing her to fall on her back. Then she found herself in her bed in Sunnydale.

Willow was sleeping at her side. For a full minute Tara willed herself to be still, not wanting to wake her beloved. Then she carefully slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the kitchen, where Willow had left her laptop.

Tara was not a computer whiz like Willow, but she did know how to use an Internet search engine. She began with a description of the statue.

After a few tries, she got back useful information. There WAS at least one statue of a many-breasted goddess, mentioned in ancient texts and dug up by archaeologists. The goddess was known by many names and had many functions: Selene the moon goddess, Artemis the Huntress, the Virgin Goddess (so why did she need so many nipples? It turned out Tara was not the first to wonder that), Diana of the Crossways (whose statue was put up at key intersections, as Tara had seen) and – this was the crucial one – Hecate, patroness of witchcraft. Tara had gotten a revelation straight from the horse's mouth.

But what did it mean? Presumably it had to do with the ceremony a couple of months from now, when Tara was supposed to be exorcised of her demon-derived magic powers. Until this year, she had not disputed her family's insistence that she go through it, but Willow encouraged her to take pride in her powers, and the dream must represent the conflict. But which way lay death? Would she be killed because she lacked the power to defend herself? Or would the demon within swallow up her soul if it was left un-exorcised?

One thing was clear: she couldn't tell Willow. In spite of all their intimacy she had held back the secret of the demon, and she couldn't explain the dream without bringing in the choice. By the same token, she couldn't consult Mr. Giles. He seemed like a very nice man, but Willow, who had known him for nearly four years, explained that the mild exterior could be deceptive, and he was a sworn foe of demons. Tara would have to make the choice alone.

Next day was Friday, and Tara tried to put the dream out of her head at work. Willow and Tara had both taken summer jobs in Sunnydale. Willow, of course, got the glamour job: teaching Internet and computer basics to older people who hadn't learnt them in school because they hadn't been invented then. Tara was simply a sales clerk in a clothing store. The boss was fussy, but fortunately Tara's self-effacing nature seemed to please her. At least she always talked about how much better an employee Tara was than "that Chase girl". Willow, to whom Tara repeated the remark, thought it was very funny; apparently she had met the Chase girl.

Today Tara was on duty when a young man came in. He said, rather shyly, he was looking for a dress for a woman.

"What's her size?"

"I'm, er, not sure. Can you figure it out from this?" He handed her a computer printout. Tara looked at it in puzzlement; it looked like a set of body measurements.

"This is from Sunnydale Hospital?"

"Yes. The woman is an amnesia victim. The psychologist thought that it would be good for her to go on an outing, but to do that, she needs something to wear besides a hospital gown."

"I see. Um, just a moment." Tara went into the storeroom on pretense of seeking a dress. Holding the printout over the training manual, she muttered a spell to coordinate information from the two. That gave her the dress size she needed. After that, it was a matter of finding out the price range that the young man (who said in passing that his name was Ben) thought he could charge to the hospital. Finally he left with the proper dress.

It was about an hour later that the next weird thing happened: somebody screamed outside, and simultaneously, Tara sensed the presence of magic. Magic plus screaming probably equaled vampire attack. She dashed to the exit.

"Where do you think you're going?" demanded the boss.

"Somebody screamed. It sounds like they're in trouble."

"Let the police take care of it. Your job is here."

Tara had heard Willow's opinion of the local police: very low. Mayor Wilkins had deliberately thwarted investigation into potentially supernatural mysteries during his long tenure, and although he had died more than a year ago, it was possible that he had still left stooges in the police department. That meant that Tara was left with a major decision.

Tara knew about the supernatural. She was a witch of partly demonic ancestry, and she had heard more from Willow. So far, however, she had not explicitly joined the fight. She had fled the Gentlemen and the Oz/werewolf, and had been present at a frat house when it was hit by a curse, but all that was passive. She had not been involved on the crucial occasion when Willow, Xander, Buffy, and Giles had invaded the Initiative and killed Adam. What she had heard from Willow about fights with vampires and demons frightened her.

But people could confront their fears. Willow had had a phobia about horses most of her life, yet she had overcome it so that she could share one of Tara's pastimes and go horseback-riding with her. And while a beautiful horse was scarcely comparable to an inherently loathsome vampire, shouldn't Tara be equally brave? Did she want to be shut out of a crucial part of Willow's life?

"I d-d-don't care," she said. "If duty interferes with my j-j-job, then I _QUIT_." She was proud that she had spat out that crucial final word without stammering. Without even waiting for an answer, she marched out the door.

She sensed evil from her right, and headed that direction. Her sense led her into an alley, where she saw the body on the sidewalk. Several others had come in response to the scream, and were staring at the body rather stupidly as if nobody ever died mysteriously in Sunnydale.

Tara knelt down beside the body and raised the body so that she could examine the neck. There: two puncture wounds, matching the fangs of a vampire.

A vampire who bit during the daylight hours.

"What do you think you're doing?" demanded a voice.

Tara turned around and saw a police officer. From his point of view, of course, she was tampering with evidence. "Trying to feel a pulse at the neck," she said. "There isn't one."

Terrified that she might be drawn into a murder investigation – and what was worse, one that would never be solved, since the murder was committed by a creature who officially didn't exist – Tara stepped away from the body and tried to melt into the background. She was always good at melting into the background.

And it was only then that memory of the dream rushed back. Clearly getting involved in the Vampire War was more dangerous than not getting involved. Had she chosen the path that would lead to an early death?


	8. Joyce the Newbie Sccoby

**Chapter 8 Joyce the Newbie Scooby**

Rupert had called her at the gallery to explain that he would be out late on Friday, but that Joyce should feel free to let herself in at his house. He had already given her a key. Unfortunately Joyce had to work late at the gallery and it was nearly 8:00 when she drove into his parking lot.

She got out of the car nervously. Usually she tried to put on a brave face, but after all she had been attacked on this very lot the previous day, and now it was after sundown when "normal" vampires might be lurking about. (When on earth had she started thinking of vampires as "normal"?) She carried a stake in her purse to be sure – both Buffy and Rupert had insisted on that – but the idea of driving it into something's heart, even a vampire's, made her feel queasy. She'd much rather dash to the door and wait in the empty flat for Rupert. So she made the run, twisted the key in the lot, shoved the door open—

And ran smack into a meeting of the Scooby Gang.

Of four of them, at least. Willow and Xander were there, and two blonde girls of Buffy's generation, one thin and one slightly plump. The thin one looked like she was about to jump on the intruder.

"It's all right, Anya," Xander said hastily. "This is Buffy's Mom, Joyce, and she's completely all right. Joyce, this is my girlfriend, Anya."

"And this is my, um, roommate, Tara," said Willow, indicating the plumper girl. Joyce looked her in dismay, not that there was anything wrong with Tara, who smiled and shook her hand, but because she thought Willow was BUFFY's roommate. Had the two best friends had a falling out? But maybe Willow assumed that Buffy would be living with Riley, and made her own arrangements.

Meanwhile Anya was talking.

"I'm sorry I nearly jumped you; it's been that sort of day; I had a premonition last night, and just this morning a rabbit crossed my path—"

"And I had a vision today," said Xander.

"And I had a dream," said Tara.

"So did I," said Joyce reluctantly.

Everybody turned and looked at Willow, who was the only one who hadn't spoken up. "Sorry, I slept like a log."

"Something's up," said Tara. "Do you think we should c-c-call Buffy back home?"

"Please don't," said Joyce in concern. "She has so few opportunities to get away from it all."

There was an awkward silence, and finally Willow spoke up. "Dreams and premonitions – that's material for a Watcher, not a Slayer. Wait until there are monsters to slay, THEN call back Buffy."

"Right," said Xander. "Now, I've got a heavy day of work tomorrow, so I'll just leave a note for Giles and start home. You can stay if you like, Anya."

"Oh, no. If you're going to bed early, I want to be in it with you. It'll give us more time to—"

"Right. Right. Right." Xander said hastily. Willow and Tara seemed to be holding back laughter. He scribbled on a piece of paper and put it down on Joyce's table. After that he made for the door, practically dragging Anya with him. When last heard from Joyce could hear the girl say "—I don't know why you wanted me to shut up; I mean, they all know what a penis does, except maybe Tar—" at which point Xander slammed the door behind him.

"Don't mind Anya," said Willow.

"I suppose she's rather young and naïve," said Joyce.

"Yeah, just about a thousand years old. Tara, let's go too. I may be able to put a forgetfulness spell on your ex-boss, if I study enough tonight."

"D-d-do you really think that's proper?"

"No, but neither is losing your job for a good deed—" The two girls went out as well, not noticing the oddity of Joyce staying behind.

Alone, Joyce checked the lock on the door, hoping that Rupert didn't hand out keys to too many people; apparently everybody in the Scooby Gang had one. Then she settled down on the sofa and rummaged through her purse.

Rupert had made an interesting remark yesterday, that fourteen years were twice seven years, and the smaller period was often crucial in prophecies. What had happened seven years ago? Joyce couldn't remember, so she had picked up an old diary from her house on the way to work this morning.

Joyce usually avoided reading past volumes of her diary. It was an extreme case of "if you knew then what you know now". All that angst about how her beloved daughter seemed to be going to the bad, when in fact Buffy had been a hero all that time, protecting first Los Angeles then Sunnydale from vampires and demons. But seven years ago should be safe. Buffy had been "chosen", as she put it, between four and five years ago. Seven years ago Buffy should have been a typical twelve-year-old.

Joyce got out her diary for 1993 and thumbed through the entries for August. Here was something interesting.

_August 18, 1993_

_Dear Diary:_

_Hank and I were awakened last night by screaming from Buffy's room. We both rushed to her room. She pointed to the window and said she had seen somebody staring in, somebody with fangs._

_I suggested calling the police, to report a possible burglar. But Buffy kept insisting on the fangs, and Hank judged the whole thing a nightmare._

"_Really," he said, proceeding back to our room, "you've got to stop her watching all those creepy videos about aliens and monsters. It puts crazy ideas in her head."_

"_What am I to do? You work; I work. At least the videos keep her attention during the day so that she isn't tempted to go out wandering around the big city. If we lived in a safe, small town--"_

"_We should have kept her in summer camp."_

"_She was miserable there. The bullies picked on her for being so small for her age. And when she tried to fight back, the counselors said that she was too violent."_

"_Find another hobby for her, then. Horseback riding, maybe."_

"_We can scarcely start riding lessons in August! School starts in less than a month. Maybe she'll get interested in her classes and stop watching monster videos."_

"_Buffy interested in classes?"_

Joyce stopped reading about the argument. It was obvious in retrospect that fault lines were already developing between herself and her husband, though she didn't recognize them as such then. Instead she thought back to the apparition in the window.

There were vampires and demons in Los Angeles. Angel had told her that, as part of his promise to move there and stay away from Buffy. It didn't have a Hellmouth, but the vast city provided lots of prey and made it easy for them to fade into the background. Usually they operated in the city center, though, not in the San Fernando Valley where the Summerses had lived. Had it deliberately migrated out in order to see Buffy?

Rupert had explained to her about "Potentials", girls who were in line to inherit a Slayer's powers. There were spells to locate Potentials, though nobody had yet figured out what made them Potentials, or how one Potential was chosen from the lot to be the Slayer. The Watcher's Council tried to find the most potential Potentials, so to speak, and give them advance training. In Buffy's case they had guessed wrong: they didn't contact her until after she had become a Slayer.

Had the vampire known that Buffy was a Potential, and come to spy on her? Or did the vampire have something to do with her dream? She could at least mention the possibility to Rupert.

Joyce sighed. From her point of view, the revelation from the diary was the worst of both worlds. It didn't clear up the mystery, but it did imply that, before Buffy had even been chosen or knew of the possibility, their lives were already being turned upside down by the Vampire War. And since the supply line from hell never stopped, she would probably be hearing about vampires for the rest of her life, however long that would be.


	9. Discoveries at an Observatory

**Chapter 9 Discoveries at an Observatory**

Dr. Celeste had worked for two years in a mountaintop observatory in the desert. Astronomically speaking it was ideal – no clouds or pollution to obscure the heavens. But it was lonely, and in winter quite cold: you couldn't heat the working area for fear of warping ultra-sensitive equipment. And so on hearing on a vacancy on one of the University of California's campuses, she eagerly applied for it, without wondering much why the Professor of Astronomy slot had been empty for almost a year.

The Astronomer vs Astrology lecture had been her first official act, and she thought it had been a good idea. It gave her publicity, but it also educated the public. California had always been a hotbed of astrological superstition. Growing up in the 1980's, Celeste had been horrified to learn that the wife of the U. S. President contacted an astrologer on the sly and gave her influence over presidential acts, as if America was still in the Middle Ages. Nancy Reagan was, of course, from California.

Officially Dr. Celeste's position as Professor of Astronomy didn't start until the fall semester, but astronomical events didn't follow the school year. There was a comet that she wanted to observe, one which would have receded by the time classes started, and she had gotten permission to use the little university observatory to look at it, the night after the lecture.

Afterward it occurred to her look through some of the observatory's computer files. She remembered the questions she had gotten after her community lecture. Lots of them were from astrology buffs miffed at her criticism of their pet neurosis. But there was also that earnest man with the British accent who had asked about the nonexistent eclipse after her lecture. He seemed the scholarly type, not the sort to make wild mistakes. Did something odd happen a few months ago that she should know about? What was the date – oh, yes, sometime in May 1999. Fifteen months ago.

There was a file in the May archives, encrypted. The coding was hardly standard practice; the files were supposed to open to the public. But it wasn't a barrier either, because Dr. Celeste had found her predecessor's decryption key in the files that she had inherited. She used it now.

The computer decrypted the file, but what first got Celeste's attention was less the data itself but the initial notes:

_Professional pride forced me to record my observations, but I don't know how I will be able to publish them. I would be the laughingstock of the profession, claiming to have observed an eclipse when the moon was a quarter of an orbit away and at the wrong ascension to boot!_

_I hear that the University biology professors are constantly being consulted about "monsters" people claim that they have seen, and that the psychology department has hired a specialist to investigate the phenomenon, but I never dreamed that this sort of nonsense would hit my own profession._

_Maybe I should try to get a new job in some other branch or university._

_I HATE Sunnydale._

What followed was a perfect description of an eclipse – exactly what the scholarly man was asking about.

So now she knew why the position had gone vacant. But she told herself that her predecessor had had the wrong attitude. Something odd had happened that was not in accord with scientific theory. It ought to be investigated, to determine whether the observation or the theory was wrong. That was how scientific method was supposed to work. Of course, she was not going to solve it tonight. Maybe she could make it a class project when she started teaching this fall. In the meantime, gather information – including possibly a talk with the Englishman to see what he knew about it.

It was, of course, pitch dark outside when she started the walk home. She was used to that. Working at night came with the job, and the darker the night the better for observation. And while she would hesitate to wander at night in Los Angeles or San Francisco, this was a quiet campus on the edge of an unusually sleepy town. Even when she passed a lantern and saw a dim figure appear on the path, she was not particularly apprehensive.

"Good evening," she said.

"It's a great evening," he said. "Particularly for hunting." With that, he grew fangs.

Celeste was so startled that she simply stared at him for several crucial seconds. Even when he started advancing on her, she started backing up, unwilling to take her eyes off the bizarre face. Suddenly she tripped on something and went sprawling backwards.

The monster grinned, and then exploded in a cloud of dust.

Behind where the monster had been, she saw the Englishmen, with an odd wooden tool in his hand.

"W-W-What just happened?" she stammered.

He looked flustered, as if she had caught him doing something embarrassing. "Um, I don't quite know how to answer that."

She picked herself off the pavement and brushed herself off, irritated. If her life had been in danger, she at least deserved to know how. "You can start by telling me what you're doing here. And with just the right weapon to – whatever you did."

"I rang your flat to ask you more about the eclipse. Your answering machine implied that you might be at the observatory, whose number wasn't listed, so I drove over. As for the stake, I always carry it for emergencies."

"Which means you expected something like this. OK, let's make a deal. I solve the eclipse mystery, you tell me what's going on."

He thought for a moment. "Done. But don't let's talk here. We'd be safer indoors."

She felt reluctant about taking him to her apartment. It might have unintended sexual overtones, and besides, she was feeling belatedly cautious. "The University Library."

"It wouldn't be open now."

"My professor's card will let me in. And, er—"

"Yes?"

"Thanks very much for saving my life."

As they sat in an isolated cubicle, the Englishmen started an incredible story, about vampires and demons and mouths of hell.

"Your name isn't von Helsing, is it?" she asked half jokingly.

He looked puzzled. "No, my name's Rupert Giles, and von Helsing was before my era. My grandfather knew him, though. Why?"

"Skip it. If all this stuff about vampires is true, why don't we hear more about it?"

"That's a rather fascinating question. I used to think people simply suppressed memories they didn't understand, but that wore thin. Do you know that less than two years ago there was a lynch mob that nearly killed three innocent girls, but that if you asked the participants, they genuinely wouldn't remember it? Two of them were mothers of the girls, by the way."

"How do you explain it?"

"I think the Hellmouth puts out some kind of spell that suppresses memories of the supernatural, but it's not perfect. It works best on isolated memories, and fails once the memories have formed associations in the mind. I'm immune because I have been studying vampires all my life, and integrate each new incident into my knowledge. I have a friend, whose name I'd rather not divulge, who is a Vampire Slayer – recognizing Vampires is part of her subconscious. And now that I've explained it to you in such detail, you'll probably not forget either."

"That's good, I guess." The idea of something invading her mind and plucking out a memory was unsettling, and she changed the subject. "And now I'd like to ask about your eclipse. Maybe something other than the moon blocked the sun. Did you see the corona?"

"Corona?"

"It looks like a circle of fire surrounding the eclipse. It's dimmer than the sun, and only visible when the sun itself is blocked off."

"I don't recall. There was a lot going at the time, including my library blowing up. Is it important?"

"Coronas are visible only because the moon and sun are the same size as seen from Earth. If the blocking object were smaller, it wouldn't block the sunlight. If it were larger, it would hide the corona as well as the sun."

"Why are they the same size? Is that some sort of cosmic law?"

"Not at all. No other moon in the solar system, and there are dozens, have the right size and position to cause eclipses on their planets. It's a accident, unique to the Earth-moon-sun system."

"I'd prefer to see it as a mystery to be solved."

With exasperation, Celeste glared at the eccentric who talked about vampires and demons and went off on a trivial tangent about the moon's size. Only two things were wrong with that evaluation.

Vampires did exist – Celeste had seen one.

And why _was_ the moon exactly the right size to cause eclipses?


End file.
